Doctor's Best Friend
by HistoryHound
Summary: A chocolate labrador mistakes McCoy for being his owner! What can the good doctor do but say, "Dammit Jim! I'm a doctor, not a veterinarian!" A story for McCoy lovers and dog lovers alike. Chapter 4 up! Please review!
1. Chapter 1

Note: I'm not fully done with this story. Have a chapter and a half to go before fully done. I'm starting to upload it now, because I feel I need motivation to finish the final parts. This story does have a plot, and will not be one of those, "goes on forever." Should have about 5. Like I said, I'm not quite done with 4 yet, though I do have everything thought out. Please, help me finish it by making me feel bad for not having it done, and making you suffer!

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Dr. Leonard "Bones" McCoy grinned foolishly as he exited the drab bar. He strolled whimsically down the dusty streets of the Federation colony Polar, named for its dynamic shifts in temperature depending on the time of day. The _USS Enterprise_ was currently orbiting around around the planet in space dock for some much needed repairs. After the way she had been chucked around the Neutral Zone like a basketball during the final minutes of a championship game, it's a wonder they'd even reached a friendly solar system. The Romulans claimed that no information regarding a Starfleet training exercise had ever reached their obnoxiously pointy ears. "Fat chance," McCoy had snorted. There wasn't an excuse too unbelievable...too risky to deter even the smallest scumbag in the universe from trying out their skills, if they could be called that, against the legendary Captain James Tiberius Kirk.

So, after the inevitable brawl with four enemy vessels, the crushed tin can of what used to be a flagship had proudly mustered its way to the closest space dock. Proudly and ridiculously, the Chief Medical Officer had informed his commanding officer after docking. This would cut back on the ship's surveying schedule for weeks! Not that he minded though. According to the ship's logs and the rapidly fading supply of sleeping pills, the _USS_ _Enterprise _was desperately overdue for shore leave on any planet. Even the barren wasteland of Polar would suffice!

McCoy had originally beamed down with a landing party consisting of the crew's Chief Engineer and First Officer. Fully aware that he and Montgomery Scott shared similar views on what constituted leisure time, the first stop on their schedule was the nearest pub. "It'll only be a wee lil' drink, Mr. Spock," Scotty had assured him, but being a Vulcan, the First Officer had politely declined and vanished in order to conduct research upon Polar's history and culture. It wasn't a stretch, however, to assume that Mr. Spock had already calculated Scotty's "wee lil' drink" resulting in an enormous hangover. In record time, Mr. Scott found himself under the table. The doctor chuckled as Scotty's burning cheeks and thick accent resurfaced in his memory. He had drunk a bit too much himself though. Opening his communicator to have the unconscious Lieutenant Commander beamed back aboard the ship was an extremely difficult task after a few shots of Romulan Ale. It was one of the few perks of being so close to the Neutral Zone, and McCoy decided, an appealing temptation. After all, Mr. Spock was nowhere to be found to lecture him on the rules and regulations regarding illegal beverages. Besides, after some fumbling and a little concentration, he'd been successful in contacting the transporter room.

Now McCoy was just appreciating a breath of fresh air. It was refreshing to no longer be cooped up like a caged dog, even if it was just a standard mining planet. Why anyone would ever want to live on a planet whose surface was scorching hot during the day and frozen like a pop sickle at night would forever remain a mystery to him. Most miners received more zeros at the end of their paychecks than the Chief Medical Officer had seen in his entire career. They weren't known for being picky as long as those zeros stayed steady, however, even Polar wasn't the safest and most ideal choice for the miners either. There had been dozens of deaths on Polar due to hypothermia. There were endless tales of idiots who'd wandered out into the sands. Whether it was out of drunkenness or arrogant illusions of invincibility, every case ended with the victim getting lost long enough for the two suns to sink, and with them, the warm temperatures.

The doctor's musings were interrupted by the eerie feeling that he was being followed. He turned around. No one was there. He sighed, but after adjusting his eye level downward, McCoy jumped a little. A big lump of brown fur stared up at him with glossy, periwinkle eyes. "You gave me quite a scare there," he drawled, stooping over to give the dog a soft pat on the head. "Next time, sneak up on Mr. Spock rather than me."

The Chief Medical Officer resumed his walk only to peer over his shoulder and discover that the dog was still following him. Its tail wagged back and forth gamely. McCoy halted and whirled around. The dog accordingly halted its pursuit, falling back on its rump. "I'm afraid you have me confused with someone else." He frowned and scouted his surroundings for a moment. A woman in a dull green dress passed by. "Excuse me?"

She stopped, cocking her head back in question. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, Ma'am. But do you by any chance know-?" His sentence was cut short as a fierce growl erupted from behind him. The dog made a vicious snap at the woman, who fearfully jolted back in anger.

The woman's eyes flared, leading to a quick slap to McCoy's face. "Learn to control your dog, Mister!"

"It's not my dog, dammit!" The Chief Medical Officer shouted, equally mad, as the woman stomped off. She was either out of hearing range or didn't care because no response came as she disappeared into a store.

McCoy whirled on the aggressor, still rubbing his stinging cheek. The dog, a chocolate labrador he noted, had returned to its stupid lanky self, it's long tongue hanging out of its mouth. "What was that for?!"

The labrador twisted his head in bewilderment, wondering what on Earth he'd done to get yelled at.

"You sure are lucky God gave you such a cute face."

McCoy was taken aback when the dog picked itself up and moseyed on over, affectionately rubbing his head against the doctor's leg, big eyes pouting. "All right, all right! Apology excepted," he muttered, scratching the mutt's floppy ears. "Where did you come from anyway?"

The doctor frantically searched all over Polar's capital city and practically Kingdom Come with his newly found companion. He desperately needed to find the dog's owner. But each time McCoy even got so much as near another living soul, the chocolate labrador became completely protective, growling and snapping at anyone within inches of him. Needless to say, this didn't exactly help the _Enterprise_ Officer make new friends. Only when alone with the doctor did the dog revert back to its harmless, silly appearance.

McCoy had given up and eventually led the dog to the outskirts of the capital so that the labrador wouldn't frighten anymore people. "Look dog," McCoy called, picking up a small rock amidst the endless sand. He waved it around for a minute and made sure that the dog's eyes were fully focused on the rock. "Fetch!" The doctor hurled the rock with all his might.

The chocolate labrador took off after it, its tail doing a dance in excitement. McCoy immediately turned, planning to run as far away from his companion as he possible and beam back to the ship, when a loud bark shattered his hopes from behind.

The doctor slowly turned to see the dog tilting its head mindlessly at him, a grin lingering on its occupied mouth.

McCoy dropped to the sand in defeat. "Why couldn't you pester someone else? What's so special about me?" He asked aimlessly, not expecting a response. The dog plopped down and dropped a large rock in front of him. The doctor groaned, exasperated. "That's not even the same rock!"

McCoy's was suddenly overwhelmed by a violent chill. It was getting colder, and Polar's suns were beginning to fade out of view. McCoy picked himself up off the ground and took out his communicator. He pondered over the dog for a moment. He realized he was glad it hadn't fallen for his trick. At least not with the temperature starting to drop, and quickly. "I guess I'm going to have to take you with me," he decided with a grumble. "Can't let you freeze to death out here just because you've gotten lost from home." He flipped open his communicator with a click. "McCoy to _Enterprise_. Come in _Enterprise_."

"_Enterprise_, Lieutenant Kyle here. I was beginning to worry about you, Doctor. You're the last one to report in. What's been keeping you?"

"Trust me, Lieutenant, it's better that you don't ask. Two to beam up."

"Two?"

"I wasn't aware that you couldn't count, Lieutenant," McCoy said, his voice dripping in sarcasm.

"Sorry, Doctor, but it's just… your signal is coming up with only one other life form in the vicinity...Well, it's not human." The young engineer explained.

"I wasn't aware that the number two was only used for humans either, Lieutenant."

"Yes, Doctor. I'll have you up in a jiffy."

McCoy glanced once again down at the dog. He was loyally at his side as though he'd always been there, that same damn snicker still present on his furry face. "Snickers. Humph. That's what I'll call you. Snickers."


	2. Chapter 2

"Dr. McCoy to Sickbay. Medical Emergency. Dr. McCoy to Sickbay."

McCoy made a gruff noise at his slumber being disturbed. "Not now, Joanna. Daddy's busy with work," he muttered softly, burrowing his head into the pillow.

"Dr. McCoy to Sickbay."

"What?" The Chief Medical Officer mumbled drowsily. He hoisted himself up on the bed, using his elbows for support. The doctor fumbled one hand through his tussled hair.

"Dr. McCoy to Sickbay. Medical Emergency."

His brain sluggishly processed the words. The doctor's pale eyes widened. He was about to spring out of bed when he realized that he couldn't move his left foot. "What the-?" There was no blood circulation. It was completely cut off due to the furry lump snoozing on top of it.

"Snickers!" McCoy snapped. The dog's ears perked up and his head rose softly. He nudged him pleadingly with his toe. "Snickers, get off my foot!" The chocolate labrador stretched and hoped off the bed with half-hearted energy. The doctor sprang out of bed and hurriedly dug a surgery garment out of his overcrowded closet.

The _Enterprise_ officer tapped to life the wall intercom in his room. "McCoy here. What's going on?" The doctor grabbed a black boot while waiting for a response. "That's strange", he thought aloud. "I put this boot next to my desk." Wiggling his numb foot into the boot, McCoy froze.

"Dammit, Snickers!" He'd have to worry about the drool and bite marks later.

"Kirk here. Sorry for the early wake up call, Bones."

"I'll live…maybe."

A chuckle. "Well, your funeral will have to wait. There's been an incident down on the planet."

"What kind of incident?"

"You're needed in surgery right away."

"Details would be nice, Jim."

"I had to send a security team down to the planet. But as to what happened to them, I'm in the dark just like you. Nurse Chapel says I have to wait until the patient is in the clear before questioning. So, Bones..." His Captain's voice was anxious.

"Right," McCoy nodded. "Tell Nurse Chapel I'm on my way." He clicked off the intercom and turned his attention back to Snickers. The tireless tail was knocking the autopsies he'd yet to finish off his desk into a flying frenzy of papers. "Hey," he scolded. "Cut that out!" The doctor snatched the papers off the floor and sighed. "No wonder I never had a dog as a kid. Stay put! I'll be back in a little bit. Don't destroy too much of my stuff." The periwinkle eyes goggled at him innocently. "Ugh."

A few minutes later, the Chief Medical Officer strode into his sanctuary. Sickbay. He quickly threw on some gloves and went to the surgery room. Arriving, he easily spotted Nurse Christine Chapel's blonde hair in the red, dim lighting. "What happened?"

The French woman looked up with some relief. "Ensign Perro, Doctor." McCoy rolled his eyes. _Perro_ was Spanish for _dog_. Chapel noticed his sudden change in expression. Perplexed, she continued. "He was down on the planet -."

"What was he doing down there at this time?"

"One of his partners, he's over there on that bed, said they received a report about some illegal weapons smuggling or something of that kind….I-I'm not sure. Anyway, another security officer found him like this, head bashed. He's got two large bruises on his face, most likely from a fight."

"Head injury?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Chapel informed him. Unlike her normal sweet and daydreaming self, when in a medical matter, she was one of the most competent nurses. The best he had on his staff. The doctor was anticipating that she'd become a brilliant CMO herself someday. "He's got a pretty deep concussion, and his skull has been cracked on the left side, but I've managed to seal that up already."

"So where's the bad one?"

"His lower chest. He's got a deep wound in his stomach. I'm amazed he didn't die of blood loss by the time we got him up here."

"Great." McCoy grimaced. "Well, Nurse, let's save us an Ensign."

McCoy emerged from Sickbay with a grin on his face. He noticed one worried looking Captain James T. Kirk plopped in one of the waiting seats. As long as he'd known Jim, the man had never overcome his emotions for and loyalty to the crewmembers serving underneath him. To Kirk, everyone was equal, no matter what rank, or how close they were. That was a trait that many in life admired and looked up to for inspiration. And the doctor doubted that his friend would ever grow out of it. Good. He detested admirals, and especially captains, that juggled the life they held in their hands by status or rank.

"How's he going to be, Bones?" Kirk asked, although he could already guess from his older friend's content smile. "Bones" was a nickname Kirk had given McCoy when they'd first met.

"He'll be fine, Jim." He motioned over to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Saurian Brandy, knowing it was his Captain's favorite. The doctor poured the drink into two crystal glasses. He handed one to his friend and then perched himself on the side of his desk. "So what's this weapons smuggling thing I'm hearing about?"

"Well, a few days ago another ship in space dock, who was delivering supplies across the Neutral Zone, came across what appeared to be a series of ships in a weapons smuggling arrangement. They spotted a similar ship while here in space dock, so naturally, they-."

"Contacted the nearest Federation Starship. Us." McCoy finished the statement with a sip of the alcohol.

"Of course." Kirk said. "We know they're here now though."

"Ensign Perro?"

"Right. But now the problem is to-."

Kirk's sentence was cut off abruptly by Spock's cool voice coming to life over the Sickbay intercom. "Spock to Dr. McCoy."

"I never get a break," the doctor complained dryly. He switched on the intercom. "McCoy here, Spock. Whatever it is, can't you take care of it? I'm really tired."

"Oh, we're interrupting your beauty sleep, Bones?" Kirk smirked innocently, crossing his legs and batting his eyelashes.

"Yeah, _you've_ been hogging all the sleeping pills from the stress of trying to keep that weight down."

Kirk frowned.

"You know, Bones, you're position is starting to look a lot more replaceable to me lately. You wouldn't believe all the resumes I get of available CMOs."

"I'll bet. The legendary Captain James Tiberius Kirk, who never listens to his doctor and is always beaming down to the most ill-hospitable, virus infested planets...Not to mention he's too pigheaded to stay in Sickbay for the prescribed recovery time issued by his humble doctor, who's only trying to make sure we don't have to eject him out of the ship in one of those metal death beds. Yes Jim, it's a dream job."

Both Officers grinned at each other.

"Dr. McCoy?" The Vulcan's voice rang out in the room.

"Sorry, Spock. What were you saying?"

"Doctor, I am here in front of your cabin and-."

McCoy breathed the words, "Oh, no."

"Bones?" Kirk inquired from behind him, getting up and crossing the room to his friend. "What is it, Spock?" McCoy sunk away from the intercom as the First Officer replied.

"There seems to be something inside of the good doctor's cabin. There is a distinct scratching noise emanating from his door."

"I'll be down in a minute." McCoy slapped off the intercom before Kirk could even answer, and slumped his head against the wall in defeat.

"Bones?" Kirk questioned suspiciously.

He let out a groan, straitened his blue tunic, and exited Sickbay. "I'll explain on the way."


	3. Chapter 3

Commander "unpronounceable" Spock remained completely impassive, with the exception of an inclined eyebrow, as the scratching sound from McCoy's room continued. While in route to the ship's science labs, his highly sensitive Vulcan ears had picked up the noise from 7.8 paces away. The mysterious sound had conjured up a tiny group of observers who wanted to get a first hand look at how the spectacle would unravel once the Captain and good doctor arrived to reveal what was behind the bright red door.

Even a group of curious Ensigns had gathered and were taking bets to as what it could be, or whether or not Dr. McCoy would get a good harsh lecture from their Captain.

Soon, the two familiar figures dressed in blue and yellow emerged from the turbolift and approached him. The first thing he noticed was their furrowed brows. The emotion frustration, perhaps?

"Captain. Doctor," the Vulcan said in greeting. It was acknowledged with two nods, although Dr. McCoy's eyes seemed elsewhere. "I trust you're aware of the cause of this disturbance?"

Kirk replied to the question by pouncing on the doctor. "Well, I asked Bones to explain, but he's been avoiding the answer."

"I am not!"

"Well, what you're saying makes no sense to me." Kirk countered.

"Doctor?" Spock inquired, training an expectant stare on McCoy. The doctor wavered and shifted from heel to heel.

He hesitated. "Well, you see, it's like this…you left, and Scotty had a hangover. He's still in Sickbay by the way."

"Mr. Scott is not the area of concern here, Doctor."

"I'm getting there, Spock. There I am, minding my own business, when he comes up stalking behind me-."

"Who?" Kirk asked.

McCoy didn't seem to hear him, and his words were beginning to turn into a hysterical rant. "I mean, I tried to get him to go away. Chucked a rock and all, but the damn thing wouldn't leave me alone-."

"Chucked a rock?" Spock queried.

"What thing?" Kirk continued to ask.

"So I tried to find out where he was supposed to be, who he belonged to, but I got near someone and then -snap!-, there he went off with his teeth! Got me slapped in the face!"

"What did?!"

"And, Jim, he gave me the cutest look that even a tribble couldn't produce. So, I couldn't just leave him there-."

"I find that highly improbable considering tribbles do not have faces, Dr. McCoy." Spock informed him gravely.

"I'm not surprised, Spock. You never did like them."

"Bones!" Kirk shouted.

"What, Jim? I'm right here you know!"

The Captain's face was twisted into an expression that seemed on the brink of an explosion. "What thing is this?! What is it that you couldn't you leave?!"

"Oh," McCoy felt his ears grow hot. He strode one step over, in front of the door, and then slapped his palm against the lock. The button hissed and the door to his cabin swooshed open.

Unaware of all the trouble that had escalated because of him, a chocolate labrador trotted out of the Doctor's quarters. Its grin broadened as its periwinkle eyes trained upon the Chief Medical Officer.

The lanky dog snuggled up next to him and began to affectionately lick the doctor's palm. McCoy's hand didn't move a muscle. The doctor didn't even pay any attention to the slobbery kiss. It was as if he'd already become accustomed to the loving, ridiculous treatment.

"What is that?" Kirk gaped, his head sagging into the palm of his hand.

"This," his CMO stated flatly, "is Snickers."

"You named him Snickers?"

"Yeah, he grins at me a lot, and he's brown…like the candy bar. You ever had one, Jim? I know they're a bit outdated, but my grandma used to take me to this old shop..." McCoy shrugged.

"Who is the dog's owner, Doctor?"

The Chief Medical Officer snorted. "That's the problem, Spock. I don't know whose dog it is. That's why I brought it on board with me."

"You do know, Doctor, that it is a violation of Starfleet regulations to transport an unknown animal on to a federation starship without proper-."

"You know what you can do with those regulations, Mr. Spock?" McCoy baited angrily.

"What, Doctor?"

"You can tak'em and shov'em up your green-blooded-!"

"Bones," Kirk interrupted, reaching out to calm his friend. Stopping the bantering between his two best friends had become a familiar routine to him. A hobby almost. He was halted by a vicious sound from below him. The Captain trained his hazel eyes downward into a deadly lock with the mutt's. "Bones, you're dog doesn't seem to like me."

"He's not my dog," McCoy corrected. "And don't feel special; he won't let anyone come near me. As I said earlier, I tried to find out whose dog he was, but every time I even got near anyone, he scared them off."

"It's also against regulations to bring a dangerous animal that could cause injury to the crew-."

"Again Spock, you can take it and shove-."

"Spock is right, Bones. He does look like he wants to take a chunk out of me." Kirk backed away, holding up his hands in a none threatening manner.

"Hey, he's had Pulgarian rabies shots…..I think." His ice blue eyes flickered around in wonder at his own statement.

"Pulgarian Rabies shots or no Pulgarian rabies shots, I want him off the ship, Bones. You're to take him down to the planet and get him back to whoever owns him. Beam down with the security team that I'm sending to search for those smugglers."

The Chief Medical Officer nodded with a grin. "Good. I don't even like him."

Just as McCoy was making the declaration, Snickers busily sniffed the floor, trailing his way over to Spock, who remained unmoving.

The Vulcan flushed a dark green.

Everyone gaped as Snickers lifted his hind leg.

"Okay Jim, I like him now."


	4. Chapter 4

Again, McCoy wasn't all to thrilled with being down on Polar's surface, however, it was, at least, better than being cooped up in Sickbay with stupid Ensigns getting burned on simple engineering routines. Prepared this time, Snickers was lankly pacing next to him with a collar and a leash securing the mutt from doing any harm to distracted pedestrians. A short, but lean Lieutenant, who'd been a veterinarian in Massachusetts, had been kind enough to lend it to him. The CMO had to scrunch his ice blue eyes together to keep them from screaming at the sun's harsh rays.

As they strolled, occasionally popping a question in the air as to who the dog might belong to, McCoy was given the time to get a better perspective on the planet's architectural designs. It vaguely reminded him of a movie he'd seen as a kid, a supposed classic of the late 20th century. Star Wars. The sandy colored slabs of buildings had a complementing dusty feeling, and people all around the star system scattered in markets and bars. It was similar to the home planet of the main good guy, Luke Skywalker. The Chief Medical Officer hadn't taken much interest into Star Wars though. The movie had horribly dated special affects which he could simply not tolerate.

The doctor took a heavy sigh, leaning under a canopy shaded store to take a break. He spotted two red security officers, who were supposed to be scouting for smugglers, flirting with an attractive Orion. McCoy scowled. "This is why we never get done with anything." And then added. "And why all of security make damned easy targets. Might as well just paint a big 'ol bullseye on their backs." He'd learned through observing his Captain's habits that a pretty face was nothing but a distraction and trouble.

McCoy's eyes wavered down to the brown sack of fur to his left. Snickers had been behaving well so far. Maybe it was due to the outrageous heat, the doctor surmised. The Chief Medical Officer found himself overwhelmingly distracted by the dog's tongue, which was hanging out of his mouth for what seemed like a mile distance toward the pavement. "Geez, Snickers. Does your tongue ever end?" The Labrador tilted its head in confusion, and McCoy gave him a good scratch behind his left ear. "You're kind of cute, ya know? Stupid. But cute."

A man, in possibly the ugliest orange the CMO had ever seen, passed by and Snickers let out a piercing growl. The man jumped, frowned disapprovingly at McCoy, and jogged off. "Yeah, I'd growl at someone dressed like you too!" The Southerner shouted after him in disgust, arms folded defensively. He was getting sick of this.

"Damn, this is getting us nowhere." McCoy grinned foolishly at his own words. "Look at me, I'm talking to a dog. Yeah, well so what," he told himself. "Scotty talks to engines for goodness sakes. Still, I don't think anyone on this planet recognizes you. I mean, how many ships come through here a day anyway? You're owner might've given up and left already. The only way to find him would be to find the…..That's it!" Snickers jolted in fright at the doctor's sudden outburst. "Sorry."

Three minutes of footprints and pawprints later, they'd found the enormous stone space docking building. It was a dusty yellow, like every other design in the vicinity, but had four wide pillars supporting it in the front. Plus, almost every Federation planet's flag was hung proudly to the left outside, the Federation's flag dominating all others at the top. The Federation transport building for Polar. They'd have all the record information of ships that had docked in the past few days. McCoy pondered why they hadn't thought of it earlier. Probably everyone was too busy scampering about trying to tag down the smugglers.

However archaic it appeared to be on the outside, the inside was hardly the case. A mix of Starfleet uniforms and civilian clothing were spanned all about the place. The ceiling of the building outstreched over him with a large arch, which was complemented by modern light panels. Every square inch from the floors to the walls was a polished red marble speckled with gravel gray. _Not the smartest idea making the inside of a building look like a volcano on a scorching planet. _Sunlight poured into the open space by triangular shaped windows to the left and right walls, a good twenty of them, McCoy theorized.

In front of him was an assortment of about five different styled marble desks, each having a moderately long line of people. A stocky blonde in command gold buzzed past him carrying a large stack of papers. "Excuse me, ma'am. Where do I go to find information records?" She pointed to the farthest right desk and hurried on. "Come on, Snickers." McCoy noted that the farthest back wall displayed a series of Federation consuls filled with various buttons and screens. Manning them were a series of communications officers similar to Uhura, smoothly controlling the flow of traffic in the dock above.

McCoy was relieved to find that the line was relatively small with just around seven people ahead of him. Two were Starfleet, like him, and the others most likely tourists and natives.

His mind had wandered out of this world when a voice struck into his ears. "Next…..Ssir?"

The Chief Medical Officer blushed. "Sorry, dozed off there." He was standing face to face with a blue skinned Andorian, maybe late twenties he guessed. Her thin lips were nibbling on a granola nutrient bar.

"It happenss all the time, Ssir." She reassured him perkily. Her bubbly cheeks seemed to reach all the way up to her snow white hair. "What can I do for you?"

"Yes, I'd like to send a communication note to all ships that have been here in the last…..um, let's say three days."

She nodded. "Ssure. I'll need to ssee your federation identification."

"Uh, right, here you go." McCoy handed her his credit while fumbling with Snicker's leash.

"Very good, Lieutenant Commander. What'ss the messssage to ssay?"

"Let's see…..Found: A Chocolate Labrador with blue eyes. If yours, please contact Captain James T. Kirk or Dr. Leonard McCoy on board the _USS Enterprise_, serial number NCC-1701."

"Iss that all?"

"Yep, that about covers it."

"It will be ssent in an hour, for we will need to check all recordss, hopefully you will receive a messssage ssoon." McCoy turned to leave but was stopped again by her voice. "Sir?"

"Yes?"

"You will have to clean that up."

"Clean what up?" Her two antennas moved simultaneously down to the ground with her gold eyes. McCoy followed them and groaned at the pile of slimy drool. A long gooey strand of it was still attached to Snicker's jaw as he gazed in holy praise of the Andorian's nutrient bar.

"Well, it could've been worse," the doctor noted after they'd wiped it up and left. "You could've gone to the bathroom. Well, that should solve all our problems. What do you say we head on back to the _Enterprise_." The dog just smiled back up at him. "I'll take that as a "yes." Maybe you can show me that trick with Spock, the Vulcan fire hydrant, again." Snickers tilted his head as McCoy chuckled.

Comprehending after a few minutes that Snickers was not in full attention by his words, McCoy's brow furrowed. "What's wrong, boy?" The bundle of fur's snout was extended up to the sky, wet nose twitching with scents.

Before the doctor could do so much as ponder over the unexpected behavior, his wrist was snapped by the leash violently being torn away. A yelp of pain barely escaped his lips as Snickers darted wildly into a warehouse like structure across the sand filled street. "Snickers! Dammit, where in the name of Heaven's grace are you going?!"

It was a square shaped building, with a metal like garage door in the front, only halfway down. McCoy, stunned, watched the Chocolate Labrador's tail vanish underneath and through the gap. Mind racing to figure out a solution to the dog's erratic behavior, the _Enterprise_ officer took full charge in pursuit.

Ducking under the garage like door, McCoy froze.

Snickers was crouched in a menacing position, his paws all stretched out in a threatening stance. All his brown hair was stuck straight up in a warning, and his teeth glistened with a fierce growl.

And he had every right to be.

There were only three of them. The first, an enormous black man who looked like he could withstand Spock's strength, had a shaved scalp and the only hair on his body was a thin goatee that seemed to pronounce his puffy lower lip. When his cold grey eyes caught sight of McCoy, they flickered to his companion.

The man was an opposite of the previous. A skinny white male, he had straight brown hair which dipped down to his crooked nose, most likely gained in a fight. The doctor's gaze met the permanent writing on his broad round shoulder. "Cute," McCoy whispered dryly in disgust at the tattooed profanity.

The final one of the group was not of Earth descent. The emerald green shade of his skin tone was clearly that of an Orion. Whether he was a slave to the other two, or merely an accomplice, McCoy could not guess nor care in the slightest.

What the Chief Medical Officer of the _USS Enterprise_ did care about, however, were the neatly packed metal crates in their broad arms, apparently being loaded into a truck of some sort. One box, in particular, caught his attention. A wooden crate, unlike the rest, had "whiskey" scribbled on it in blood red lettering. It seemed to be the box that Snicker's main attention was focused on. The rest were easy for McCoy to figure out, phasers and disrupters. A bone chilling shiver was sent down his spine, knowing full well what things like a disrupter did to a person's molecules. A Humpty Dumpty incident, to say the least.

Only one word escaped his mouth, "Smugglers."

All three of the lawbreakers smiled sinisterly at his words. "And what's so wrong with that? We don't do nothin' all that bad." The black man pressed.

McCoy took a slow step back. "If murder is considered not "all that bad."" The even words came out icy cold, and seeing their reacting expressions, the doctor wished that he hadn't said them. _Shouting to the Klingons that they were ugly as Hell and had no honor might've been better, Leonard. Good going. _

The other Human piped in with his friend. "These Federation loonies are everywhere, Warren. First that young piece of shit and now this guy! I thought you said we wouldn't have any trouble here?!"

"Shut up, Brian. We'll do the same thing here, get rid of him."

McCoy didn't like where this conversation was going. Another step back made him one step closer to the door, and freedom. His heart jumped to his throat as a metal screeching sound came from behind him.

The Orion gave him a toothy grin, waving a remote control to the garage door tauntingly in his direction. _There goes the only way out. _McCoy gulped, becoming less and less content with his odds.

"Look at him though, Warren! He must be a whole damn Sergeant! There gonna be on us like the British on a fox's trail the minute he turns up murdered!"

The Chief Medical Officer scowled. "The Federation uses Navel ranks."

Brian glanced up, as though he hadn't even known their prisoner was listening. "I know that. That's what I said."

"Boy you're stupid." _Leonard, you better think of what you want to say when you see your grandma again, 'cause it looks like you'll be paying her a visit pretty damn soon. _

As they advanced forward, another low grumble reminded McCoy, thankfully, that he wasn't in this alone. Prowling protectively back in forth in front of his newly found master, Snickers gave the appearance of a force to be reckoned with. His captors' faces became masked, but McCoy could evaluate that their eyes were swelled with hesitation.

"It's just a stupid mutt, you retards!" Warren blazed angrily. He charged.

Snickers wrapped his teeth solidly around the black gigantor's right arm. He let out a sharp howl of cuss words and frantically tried to shake the dog off.

McCoy was too busy gapping at the bleeding Warren that when Brian threw a left hook, it was too late to duck out of the way. The CMO crashed hard into the floor, feeling a crack in his side. He only looked up to be backhanded in the mouth. Blood spewed from the inside of his gums and blotched all along the sand, turning it a rusty brown. McCoy, acting as rapidly as he could with his head spinning, kicked up his foot with full force. It landed square into his opponent's chest and sent him sprawling. _Dammit, I'm a doctor, not a boxing champion!_

McCoy's icy pale blue eyes frantically darted around the warehouse in a desperate search for his four legged comrade. Locking on their target, the doctor's heart shattered to a thousand pieces.

During the chaos, the Orion had grabbed a small brown sack. "Snickers!" It was too late for the dog to fight back. The green alien wrapped it tight around the Chocolate Lab's snout, rendering his teeth useless. Snickers kicked and squirmed for freedom, but Warren grabbed his leash and secured him.

McCoy mind rapidly raced to find a weapon to save Snickers. While in panic, a sharp blow burst into the side of McCoy's head from behind.

Everything went black.


End file.
